


All I Want for Satinalia

by erebones



Series: The Twelve Days of Fever [6]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: Gift Exchange, Grey Wardens, M/M, Modern Thedas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-30
Updated: 2016-12-30
Packaged: 2018-09-13 11:16:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,183
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9121177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/erebones/pseuds/erebones
Summary: Warden Alexius is feeling out of place at Vigil's Keep when he signs up for the Secret Satinalia gift exchange... and just happens to draw the name of Carver Hawke, his mentor, superior, and the man he's secretly pining for.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This takes place in the same 'verse as [this](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6038662/chapters/18763480) little ficlet, but it's not necessary to read it first.

Scribe Haylen is at the requisition desk filling out forms when Felix drops by after training, and she spares him a smile and a wave in greeting. “Warden Alexius, hello! I’m about to clock out, so make it quick.”

“I will, I promise. I just wanted to check and see if I’m too late to sign up for the gift exchange.” He’s still a little wrong-footed with some of these Southern customs, but he’d overheard two of his fellows discussing their ‘secret Satinalia’ giftees and thought it a charming idea.

“Almost, but not quite. There are two names left.” She rummages in one of the desk drawers and fishes two slips of paper out of a jar, placing them face down on the desk. “Pick your poison.”

Felix stares down at them, gnawing on his lip. Only two? He suddenly feels the pressure of making the right choice. What if he selects someone he doesn’t know? Or someone who doesn’t like him? _That would be half the Keep, Tevinter_ , he reminds himself sourly.

Haylen laughs suddenly, breaking into his introspection. “Hey, relax. It’s Satinalia, not brain surgery. Just grab one. Or did you want me to pick for you?”

“No, that’s okay.” He grabs one at random and stuffs it into his pocket without looking at it. He’s on the verge of turning away and fleeing when Haylen calls his name.

“Wait a second, hot shot. You gotta write your name down, too, if you want a present.”

He does so, cheeks burning, and he escapes as soon as he can, not even sure if his handwriting is legible.

He doesn’t check his own scrap of paper until he makes it to the barracks. Almost everyone in his unit is at dinner already, so he has his alcove to himself as he sits on the edge of his mattress and smooths the crumpled paper to read the name.

_Capt. Carver M. Hawke_

His stomach twists itself up with nerves immediately, and he swallows hard. Bloody hell. He could have grabbed the other one and gotten someone else entirely—an acquaintance maybe, or a total stranger, someone he could buy a bottle of liquor for and never speak to again. But no. He had to pull the name of his superior officer, the captain of his unit, who had taken Felix under his wing in recent months and whom Felix was having a harder and harder time seeing as _just a friend_.

He’s been a Warden for almost a year now, and he sometimes still feels as if he’s struggling to tread water. It was a military organization, sort of, loosely following the structure of the Ferelden armed forces; but, being a group without any real national affiliations, life at Vigil’s Keep is a little more… casual than Felix had been expecting. Friendships are forged readily and without much regard for rank, captains and lance-corporals eat side by side with recruits fresh off the Joining. Mages wander freely without Templars to guard them, still an uncommon sight in the South, and the commanding officers can be frequently seen chatting with the rank and file in the halls or the mess. Barracks are arranged by unit, and everyone gets the same accommodations; even Captain Hawke has the same plain decor and sturdy, simple bunk as everyone else, although he does have the privilege of a room all to himself.

Captain Hawke. Felix stares at the paper again and crumples it into a little ball. He has no idea what he’s supposed to get him. He doesn’t even know what they _are_ to each other. Friends? Probably. More? That’s… harder to suss out.

There are people in the Keep who are romantically involved with someone of a different rank. It’s not prevalent, but it’s not unheard-of. But Felix isn’t just a raw rookie, he’s Tevinter. That alone paints a dark smear over his name that few have been willing to get past. Felix doesn’t really blame them.

But Hawke… Hawke is different. He sighs and heaves himself off his bed. The very least he can do is shower before he goes down to get dinner, strategically later than most. It’s easier to pretend he’s not a social pariah eating alone when there’s hardly anyone in the mess.

Showered and dressed in fresh fatigues and a dark blue jumper—he’s always bloody freezing, no matter what he wears—he finds a deserted table and sets down his tray and the book he brought with him. _A History of Grey Wardens in Ferelden_. The same copy Captain Hawke had given him a few months ago, when Felix had been injured on a relatively easy mission and was then relegated to jobs that wouldn’t take him into the field. It’s a little bit embarrassing, and has only alienated him even further from his unit, but it was for the best. Felix has never been much for combat.

As if his wandering thoughts have summoned him to Felix’s side, Captain Hawke himself appears halfway through his meal, as Felix is skimming over the details of the Fifth Blight. He jumps at the _clack_ of the tray being set down and looks up over his half-eaten shepherd’s pie to see Hawke’s roguish grin flashing at him across the table.

“Hullo, Alexius. Mind if I sit here? I won’t interrupt your reading, I promise.”

“Oh, that’s all right. I’ve read it before anyway.” He closes the book and then immediately regrets it. Now he’ll have to actually _make conversation_ , and after the day he’s had, he’s not sure if his wits are up to par.

“Rereading, then?” Hawke’s brows climb up his face as he tucks into his own generous meal without saying grace first. Wardens in general aren’t a very devout lot, Felix has noticed. He can’t say he blames them.

“Sort of. I’ve noticed a pattern between Blights, and I’m trying to figure out of it’s plottable.”

“Plottable?”

“Like on a graph, so the data is easier to process and predict. There are a lot of factors to narrow down.” He shuts his mouth before he can ramble any further, but Carver looks genuinely interested. More than interested—he looks _amazed_. Felix tries not to flush.

“Hang on. Are you talking about… _predicting_ Blights? Like with maths?”

“I hope to be able to go in that direction, yes,” Felix says diplomatically. “There’s no guarantee I’ll uncover anything new, but I thought it was worth a try.”

“Alexius—Felix, this is _huge_. You realize that, don’t you?” He’s forgotten entirely about his meal, it seems, empty fork gesticulating as he speaks. “That could change the way Wardens operate. Bloody hell, why didn’t you say anything to the Commander about this. Or to _me_?”

“It’s in very early stages,” Felix says quickly, regretting that he said so much. “I can’t promise anything. And I know the Commander is a bit preoccupied with trying to hunt down a cure for the Blight…”

“Still, this is important work. You should have more resources than one outdated textbook.” He looks at the enormous tome with scorn, and Felix resists the urge to protest. The book has been extremely helpful to him, and he still has much to learn from it. Besides which, it had sort of been a gift. From Captain Hawke. From Carver. _Dammit, am I blushing again?_ “You should have… whole libraries!” Carver is saying. “And assistants! Maker, Felix.” He’s looking at him again, this time with admiration. “I know you’re a quiet sort of fellow, but you need to tell me these things.”

“Because you’re my superior officer?” Felix asks, nearly laughing at the _quiet fellow_ comment. Dorian would have scoffed such an idea right out of the room. But Dorian isn’t here. He swallows that dark thought and hides it away for later.

Carver sighs. “I mean, partly. But… we’re friends, aren’t we? I thought we were, anyway.” He looks almost forlorn, and Felix tries to hide the quickening of his heart.

“Of course we are. Only, this is… erm, no offense, but it’s complicated theory. And I don’t have any proof, yet. It’s all in here, tangled up, and I’m still trying to sort it out.” He taps his head in illustration. “Explaining it is… difficult.”

“Yeah all right, so I’m not a genius like you,” Carver says good-naturedly. “But there are other brilliant minds around here, hiding under their gruff and gristle. We can find some people to help you.”

“I’m…” Felix hesitates, then forges ahead. _Friends. We’re friends. I can tell him this sort of thing_. “I’m grateful, truly, but it’s not necessary. Anyway, I think you’d have a hard time finding anyone willing to help the Tevinter with his little experiments.”

He tries to keep his tone light, but he must fail, because a dark cloud comes over Carver’s face and his grip on his fork tightens like it’s a gun rather than a dining utensil. “I see.”

He doesn’t say anything more about it, but there’s a stern knot in his brow that keeps Felix from making conversation as they eat their meals in silence. Eventually Carver pushes his empty tray away and sighs, elbows on the table. “Look. I’ll make you a deal. I’ll speak to the Commander on your behalf, and see that you get the resources and time that you need to devote to this. You can pick your own team. Surely you have _some_ idea of who would be a help to your research rather than a hindrance.”

Felix wraps both hands around his mug of coffee and considers it. “Scribe Haylen,” he says firmly. “I know she’s good at what she does, but it’s busywork. She’s replaceable. She’s better than a secretary, she’s a scholar, if she only had the opportunity.”

“Right.” Carver looks a little surprised, but not in a bad way. “Consider it done. You think on it, come up with a list of four or five. Talk to Haylen, if you want. I’ll let you know what the Commander says.”

Felix nods, feeling reluctantly optimistic. He isn’t expecting magic to happen right away—the Commander’s time is at a premium, when she’s even at Vigil’s Keep—but it’s nice to know that Captain Hawke is on his side.

What he isn’t expecting is for Hawke to track him down that very evening, dressed in fatigue pants and a stretchy tee like it isn’t the middle of Firstfall. Felix is curled up with a book in a solitary corner of the library—a book of poetry this time, Tevene poetry that he’d smuggled across the border when he fled with Dorian and his father—and when Carver comes up to him and starts rambling excitedly it takes a moment for his brain to switch back to the Trade tongue.

“Wait—wait a moment.” He shakes his head to clear it and sits forward in his chair, a wonderfully squishy thing that he’d just been starting to really sink into. “It sounded like you just said _the Commander wants to promote me_.”

“I did, and she does,” Carver beams, looking as if _he_ were the one receiving the promotion. “She says it sounds like you’re wasted where you currently are, and she wants to give you a bit of a title so that people will actually respect your work. So, Warden-Captain Alexius, what do you say?”

Felix’s jaw drops. “Is this… are you…”

“I mean, this isn’t the formal offer, obviously. She’ll want to do that in person, tomorrow. But I wanted to come give you the news now so you wouldn’t be caught off-guard.”

“Consider me _off guard_ ,” Felix says, sitting back hard in his chair. Two thoughts vie for his immediate attention: one, that he would finally have a real purpose here in this world that was so unfamiliar to him; and second, that he is to be given the same rank as Carver. Both thoughts are dizzying, and he isn’t sure quite what to say.

“You’re not displeased, I hope.” Carver looks genuinely upset by the possibility, and Felix moves quickly to assuage him.

“No, no, not at all! It’s just… so unexpected. And sudden. Can she _do_ that? Just… promote me, out of the blue?”

“She’s the Commander, she can do as she likes,” Carver says, a little bit wryly. “It’s hard to deny the person who ended the Fifth Blight in only a year’s time. Plus she’s actually good at what she does.” He reaches down and pats Felix on the shoulder. “Sleep on it. You don’t _have_ to accept, but I really hope you will.”

\\\\\

He does. Of course he does. For the first time since he became a Warden he has a purpose, a _passion_ , and not only that, but the resources to pursue it with all his focus. He's so focused, in fact, that he forgets entirely about the scrap of paper with Carver’s name on it until a tap comes on the door of his study late one night and Carver lets himself in, one arm tucked behind his back.

“Knew I’d find you here,” Carver says as Felix pushes back from his desk, rubbing his eyes. The desk lamp is on but everything else is dark; outside the lancet windows he can see stars.

“When did it get so late?” he mumbles. He doesn’t want to blind himself, so he picks up a taper and goes around lighting candles in their sconces until the room is lit with a cheerful glow.

“I’m starting to think that I need to check in on you more often. Did you eat dinner?”

Felix gestures to the mostly-empty tray shoved to the corner of his desk. “Minaeve brought me something earlier, it’s fine. Erm, can I help you?”

Carver chuckles and sets something down on his desk—or rather, on a precariously-stacked tower of books on his desk. “I just wanted to drop this off. It’s not much, but hopefully you like it.” When Felix only stares at him blankly, he prompt, “It’s Satinalia Eve. Did you forget?”

Felix sucks in a horrified break. “Oh no. Oh Maker, I completely forgot. I didn’t even…” Wait. How could Carver possibly have pulled his name for Secret Satinalia if he was signed up before Felix? He plucks the package from its perch—it’s poorly wrapped, a misshapen lump that’s soft and squishy when he holds it—and the tag attached reads _Felix, happy Satinalia. —Carver_

It’s not a Secret Satinalia gift at all. It’s just… just a present, from one friend to another. Felix groans and sinks into his chair. “I’m horrible.”

“What? No you’re not, Fee, what on earth…?” Carver chuckles, a little incredulous. “I don’t know how they do it up north, but just because someone got _you_ something doesn’t mean you’re obligated to get them something in return. And like I said before, it’s not much. I just noticed you got chilled easily, not that I blame you. This bloody Keep is draftier than the Black City, I swear…”

He’s _babbling_ , Felix realizes. Nervously. He puts his own abject failure aside for now and tears at the wrapping with eager fingers, and out spills a long, soft scarf, a bit lumpy but wide and endless, a deep blue color with snatches of silver worked into the spool of the yarn. He gasps and begins putting it on immediately. It winds around his neck several times with room to spare, and he immediately feels warmer.

“This is amazing! Did you…” He hardly dares say it aloud, but the awkward shuffle of Carver’s feet on the floor prompts him to continue. “Did you make this?”

Carver nods. “Sigrun’s been teaching me. Or trying to. I know it’s not very good…”

“Stop, it’s wonderful. And incredibly warm.” He buries his face in the uneven loops and sighs. _Carver made this. With his hands._ The image of him bent over the project, glaring while his thick, work-hardened fingers manipulated the needles and yarn, is too much for Felix to think about. “And I rest my case. I really am horrible.” He takes a breath and plunges on before Carver can protest. “I… you were my Secret Satinalia. Person. Thing. And I completely forgot.”

Carver looks surprised, but it devolves quickly into laughter. “Felix. That’s just a silly holiday tradition here at Vigil’s Keep. People mostly get each other gag gifts—liquor, or subscriptions to sexy magazines, or something. Please, don’t feel badly about forgetting.” He nods to Felix’s desk, currently overflowing with papers and formulas. “You’ve been quite busy, and it’s more important work than a silly gift.”

“Still. I feel terrible. There must be _something_ I can do.” He watches Carver come nearer, leaning his arse against the edge of the desk with his ankles crossed and his arms folded across his chest. He looks… amused. And soft? It’s probably just the candlelight, but all his hard edges are blurred, and Felix thinks that if he were to touch him, he would feel like velvet.

“Fee. I promise. You don’t have to do anything.” He looks around, at the chaos of Felix’s workroom, and smiles. “I’m just glad you’ve found your niche. It took awhile, but you got there. Thank you.”

Felix blinks, puzzled and a little bit dazzled by the casual way Carver’s lips form the nickname. “Thank you? For what?”

“For not giving up. I know it’s a hard transition, sometimes. But you seem to be… settling in.”

Felix licks his lips. “I… yeah. Thanks to you.” He huffs and shakes his head. “One more gift I’m going to have a hard time repaying.”

“What is it with you Tevinters and _repayment_? This isn’t a business arrangement, it’s a present.” He tugs on the end of Felix’s scarf, leaning close to do so, and a waft of warmth and faded cologne washes over him. “Happy Satinalia.”

“In Tevinter it’s customary to wear masks and ridiculous costumes for a week, attend as many parties as possible, and get so falling-down drunk that no one will remember whether you embarrassed your family publically when it’s all over.” Felix shakes his head. “This is… much more preferable.”

“Sounds bloody awful,” Carver agrees bluntly, and he smiles at Felix’s unsolicited burst of laughter.

“It was. But I still need to get you something.”

“Well, you _do_ have until tomorrow, technically. I think that’s when they’re trading gifts, right? And honestly, don’t worry about it. Just pick up a bottle of something strong and put a bow on it and I’ll pretend to be surprised.” He winks, and Felix melts a little more.

 _You’re a Captain now_ , he reminds himself, though the title still sits uncomfortably on his shoulders like an ill-fitting second skin. _Be bold._

“It’s already open, unfortunately, but I do have a bottle of Tevinter red if you wanted to share a glass?” He stands from his chair and pulls up short when he realizes Carver’s still got a hand on the end of his scarf. He meets Carver’s eyes, and they’re twinkling with wicked amusement as he pulls, very gently, until Felix is coaxed into stepping forward right into his space.

“I’d like that. If you don’t mind sharing.”

Felix takes an unsteady breath. “I—I don’t mind, no. Um.” His eyes trail down of their own accord, moving over Carver’s solid, languorous body where it reclines against the edge of the desk. “Carv…”

“Yeah?” He lets go of the scarf, but Felix doesn’t move away. “I… er, sorry if this is… not what you’re into. I just thought…”

“Thought what?” Charmed by his sudden inability to form full sentences— _at least I’m not the only one_ —Felix puts both hands on the desk to either side of Carver’s waist. It puts them very close indeed, close enough that their chests brush. Carver’s lashes flutter.

“I thought you might be… interested. But you’re so skittish and shy…”

Felix can’t help it—he laughs. Carver’s mouth snaps shut, disgruntled, but Felix touches his cheek and says, kindly, “I’m sorry. It’s just, if I’ve been skittish it’s because I’m… very unsure of how to navigate this kind of thing. As a Warden. I promise I’m bold as brass when you get me comfortable.”

“So I’m starting to see.” Carver’s hands come to his waist and grip warmly, thumbs making little half-moons in the plush material of Felix’s jumper. He’s stopped wearing fatigues since he got promoted. “I don’t suppose you’ve got mistletoe in Tevinter?”

“What is it?”

Carver peers at the ceiling. “Well, I don’t have that excuse right now. But it’s supposed to be good luck if you kiss under a branch of mistletoe.”

“Mistletoe sounds like some kind of foot disease,” Felix says matter-of-factly. “And I don’t need that to want to kiss you.”

He cuts off Carver’s laughter with his lips. It’s tender and sweet for a moment, and just when Felix is starting to relax into it, Carver’s grip tightens and he licks into his mouth with a hot, curious tongue. Desire jars his body and he leans into him, hard, hands grasping for purchase on his stupidly broad shoulders.

They part with a wet, sticky sound that’s nearly deafening in the otherwise quiet room. Felix stares at him, panting. He can feel Carver’s shoulders moving with the force of his own breathing, and the slight tremble where his enormous hands are still clinging to his waist—and, best of all, he’s _blushing_. He opens his mouth to stammer something unintelligible, but Felix stops him with a light touch to his lower lip.

“That was nice,” he whispers. “You should do that again.”

Carver growls—actually _growls_ —and pulls him back in. His mouth is hot and hungry like his hands, like the hard planes of his body as Felix leans hard against him and rubs his palms over his chest. Carver nips his lip in retaliation and Felix hisses, covers his mumbled apologies with more kisses.

It’s hard to pull away, especially when Carver reaches down to cup his arse. Felix manages it for two seconds before he’s drawn back in, tempted by the pale stretch of throat above Carver’s collar. He nuzzles soft kisses there, careful not to leave a mark, and smiles when Carver lets out a quiet whimper and tilts his head back.

One last kiss, there beneath his jaw, and Felix stops to breathe. He can feel Carver’s heartbeat thumping heartily against his own sternum, and his hand is still cupping his arse. He wants to strip Carver bare and have his way with him, right there on his desk.

“Maker,” Carver sighs, still flushed, his brilliant blue eyes darkened to slate. “You are lovely.”

“The sentiment is mutual.” Felix exhales, tightening his core and relishing the resultant ache in his pelvis. When Carver cups his face between his palms he thinks he would do anything Carver asked of him. And when he kisses him, soft and sweet, his chest hurts so badly he forgets how to breathe for a moment.

“If you… if you wanted…” Carver begins, the words sounding clumsy in his mouth.

“I definitely want. Whatever it is you’re about to suggest, yes.”

“Don’t speak too soon,” Carver laughs, but he still holds him close. “I was going to say, in the interests of the holiday… if you wanted to spend the night in my quarters I would… enjoy that. Very much.”

“Just the holiday?” Felix asks archly. Carver grumbles and wraps his arms around his waist. “You don’t need an excuse, my dear. I just… don’t want anyone to say anything. I mean, I don’t want them to think that you… helped me get promoted, and that I’m getting special treatment because, I don’t know, because I suck your cock on weekends.”

Carver goes a little cross-eyed at the mention of cocksucking, but he recovers himself quickly. “Don’t worry about that. I don’t know if you’ve noticed—I know you’re a bit on the outside, still—but everyone sort of fucks around with everyone else, mostly, and no one says anything. It’s a bit of a Warden quirk. Hot blood, and all that. But if you’re bothered…”

He looks so dejected that Felix can’t drag it out anymore. “You know, I’ve been given a room to myself now. And it happens to be adjacent to my study. There’s not much point in walking halfway across the Keep when we can just… adjourn to the bedroom.” He tilts his head toward the door in question. “And I insist you stay the night. In the interests of _the holiday_.”

“Yeah all right, you don’t have to make fun of me.” But Carver doesn’t look upset. He squeezes Felix once, comfortably, and lets go. “Is that wine still on offer?”

“And a cozy hearth, to boot.” Felix steps away and pauses. The end of his scarf has gotten tangled up in Carver’s buttons. He clears his throat. “Better stick close.”

Carver grins and sidles up to him, one arm around his waist. “Don’t mind if I do.”

**Author's Note:**

> tiny fallout 4 cameo that means nothing, I just felt like it :D


End file.
